


Dean Winchester (ORIGINS)

by Menthol_Drops



Series: Contra Vita Nostram [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark Dean Winchester, Gen, Murder, Pre-Series, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, To Be Continued, Unreliable Narrator, this is dark af y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menthol_Drops/pseuds/Menthol_Drops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was much Dean was destined to do, but before all that there is a story that needs to be told</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester (ORIGINS)

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been trying to write this AU for like two years now and I finally have time to write it so here you go guys.  
> just FYI this is seriously not meant to be an actual origins story, it's more of a self-view from Dean's perspective so it's really... off.

It had all started out as a Hunt. Something simple that John thought he’d be able to handle without much help at 13 years old, but it had quickly proven to be not a monster of the supernatural variety but a very human extension of the very things he had been taught to kill without mercy. The monster was indeed the one abducting and eviscerating those people in that mansion in 1680 Meadowlark Lane, in the middle of nowhere of the already nowhere Salida, Colorado. Dean himself was caught by this fine example of double-edged blades and after working himself free in the short time it took the man to go and fetch his knives from the sink (a reality of about half an hour given he had to wash them, poor thing).

  
Capturing someone with thirst for a kill just as much as the monster had was a mistake he would not be around to make ever again. Dean had crept up to the man and managed to knock him down with one of the syringes full of anesthetic and proceeded to give the man a taste of his own medicine, ripping the skin off of him slowly with one of his knives as if he were skinning the fur off an animal instead and then slowly sliding the largest knife through the throat of the man who tried to harm him and drag him away from his little brother, before leaving the house to catch flames from a stove left on far too long while a cigarette was conveniently in the room. He had made his first independent kill, and under the guidance of one John Winchester he refined his skill until he was the most feared Hunter in all of America. Or at least, that’s how he saw himself.

  
A god of his own belief he was able to rid this small community of the sinner that was Jason Cedars, a kidnapper, torturer and murderer being driven into damnation by his own holy fire, bathed in blood without hope for absolution, and of course there would be no greater satisfaction than seeing the life slowly bleed out of his body, empty eye sockets staring endlessly at the roof of the basement that was splattered with blood and all the signs of the punishment he himself had deemed appropriate for the pathetic excuse for a man presented to him.

  
Dean Michael Winchester, born January 21, 1979. He had a file in the FBI as thick as the arm of the man who carried it out of the cabinet it had been resting in for about two weeks. Everything from kidnapping and murder to mail and credit card fraud and a few counts of grave desecration that puzzled the agents as much as it concerned them that their Star Killer was not only a half-baked lunatic who enjoyed murder, but also someone who was into unsavory dealings with corpses, despite the fact that all the graves were complete in their contents, adding only ashes in the place of a body and salt layers thick enough to look like snow. Special Agent Victor Henricksen marveled at the fact that five years after they had first caught wind of Dean, they were yet to actually capture him, and of course his less-than-preferably-close little brother, Sam. The two seemed to drive like the devil himself was after them because they were only seen at an airport once, and the plane almost crashed, so it turned back towards the airport where they disappeared and were never seen near an airport again.

  
So far the best dealings they’d had with both Winchester brothers was the time they took hostages at a bank in Milwaukee and proceeded to release one hostage per each one killed, as few that survived after it was discovered that the boys had poisoned them all before letting them go, and as horrific as it sounded it may have been mercy for them to die instead of having to live with the memories of what they witnessed. It was nothing close to mercy having to deal with these two. Those who believed the stories would say that the two considered themselves saviors of the world and that killing was their way of cleansing the world of its sins and therefore bringing absolution and freedom of will. Those who knew the truth, however, will simply tell you that those boys are nothing short of the incarnations of angels and in love with them as well, for in their conversations it is clear that they are in relationships, but Thursday will only go so far as to give them a clear answer as to who this weak link was in between Dean and his brother. Pure, is what some would call that love as it was blinding as the sun itself.

  
Dean presented strange traits, contrary to his brother who seems to be extremely controlled, Dean showcases a certain mirth for the kill that his father trained into him for Hunting, an enjoyment of sorts that he was ridding the world of evil, one tortured corpse at a time. He is unpredictable and having raised his brother it feels only right that the poor boy is insistent to stay along him, having shot his way out of a detention facility in Illinois after rescuing his brother from his own solitary confinement cell.

  
Morningstars were the only other thing besides his brother that would affect Sam, a brand of light that you could only witness at the peak of the dawn on rare clear days and to Dean a unique attraction to a day of the week supposedly having raised him from Hell. A rebirth granted only to a Saint.

  
A few chances to capture them resulted only in death, all horrid bloody scenes that became witness to the paces of these two boys, a beauty within the madness that was their lives.

  
It was only right that they were, of course, in their very own right, their own Holy Figures.

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Is there something I should fix? Leave a comment!


End file.
